


Tremendous Brunettes

by goldenmeme



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-25 17:37:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/641354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenmeme/pseuds/goldenmeme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Early season 3. Everyone has a type. Lolita returns, House was wrong, and no one has syphilis. </p><p>(Originally posted... somewhere. A long time ago, under a different penname.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tremendous Brunettes

He was the exception to the rule. James actually _liked_ Clinic Duty. 

There was an apparent insult to working in the clinic; the brightest minds in Jersey were indentured into diagnosing an endless parade of the common cold. Most doctors resented it, some more vocally than others. James saw it as a respite. He rarely had to tell patients in the clinic that they only had three months to live.

Another small perk of working in the clinic was that House only dared venture there when he was _really_ desperate for James’s attention, although that, admittedly, only cut the visits down to about once every three hours or so.

Alison Gregor was the fourth patient he had on his shift that day, and she didn’t have any symptoms written down on her chart. When he asked, the nurse who gave him the chart said, “She wouldn’t say.”

That usually meant the problem was embarrassing. “She didn’t ask for a female doctor?”

“She asked for Dr. House,” the nurse said, eyebrows raised conspiratorially.

Oh. _Oh._ Ali. That was the name of House’s Lolita. Cuddy had mentioned her name during one of her many rants about House in the week of that particular scandal. House, when he referred to her at all, mostly gave her the name of whatever teenage pop star popped into his head at the time. 

She’d disappeared after House had “cured” her a couple of months prior. According to House, he’d broken it off with her voluntarily ( _”I could never love a woman who has never seen Casablanca”_ ) but one of the pharmacists had mentioned her prescription to Cuddy, and Cuddy hadn’t hastened to tell James. They’d had a good laugh about it, and James had had the unique opportunity to taunt House by knowing something embarrassing and personal about _him_ for a change.

When James entered Exam Room 3, he found had to remind himself to blink. And breathe.

Wow.

_Wow._

He quickly revaluated his opinion of House’s impulse control.

Ali visibly wilted from her perch on the exam table. “Oh, I was hoping to see Greg.”

 _Greg._ He got a firm hold on himself before anything unprofessional escaped. He was a doctor for god’s sake. “ _Dr. House_ is busy with a patient.” Meaning it was 3 ‘o clock and a weekday, so he was hiding with his portable TV. “How can _I_ help you?”

She looked him up and down in a way he hadn’t been looked at since he’d asked Tamara Benson out in High School. “I wanted to talk to Greg,” she said. “I’ll wait.”

“Ah—I should warn you, you’ll be waiting a _very_ long time.” Briefly, he envisioned a vengeful Cuddy standing over Ali’s beaten body, wielding, perhaps, a cricket bat. _Stay away from my doctor!_ “But if you have an actual _medical_ problem, I, too, happen to be a doctor.” 

She stared at him. 

“I have the coat and everything.”

She sighed, and the snotty cheerleader exterior melted away, leaving just another uncertain patient. A young, gorgeous patient. A patient who was wearing a baby blue thong and jeans cut low enough to show it, and whose breasts had been described to James in the sort of exacting detail that only House could give.

The word _pert_ had been used.

As had the word _perky._

“The pills Greg gave me didn’t work,” she said. “I mean, my tears are clear again, but the other stuff…” She looked at him imploringly.

He’d been trained on how to handle patient’s embarrassing problems with cool professionalism. The best he could manage in this situation was to not clear his throat too much, and to make useless notes in her file so he wouldn’t have to look straight at her.

“The, uh, other stuff?” he said. It was medically relevant.

“The part where I want to screw Dr. House until he screams,” she said.

James wrote, “ _Sadomasochistic fantasies_ ,” in her file, and then crossed it out.

She said, “I can’t stop thinking about him. The medicine worked for a while, but lately I’ve been… dreaming about him. And thinking about him while I… you know…”

James was spared from having to ask for elaboration on _that_ when the door opened.

House had the _worst_ timing. Or the best.

He was already speaking before the door was fully open, not even bothering to look at what he was interrupting before saying, “Wilson, you’re needed for a consult. Tricky case; amnesia, brain transplant, twins with breasts that could beat up Cuddy’s in a fair fight. I’m pretty sure one pair is _evil._ ”

For a man with such keen powers of observation, House’s selective obliviousness was astounding.

“I’m with a patient,” James said.

House glanced at Ali, and then closed his mouth on whatever glib reply he had prepared.

Ali smiled. She curled her fingers in a wave.

House composed himself quickly. “ _Wilson,_ ” he said, apparently aghast. “Are you stealing my stalker?”

“Actually, she—“

“Come to think of it, she’s exactly your type. Inappropriately young, gr- _eat_ breasts, all emotionally mixed up from all those strange new feelings. You might as well just give her half of the, oh, twelvish percent of your remaining assets right now and save yourselves the time.”

That might have stung if that particular horse hadn’t been beaten to death a long, long time ago. “ _Actually,_ ” James repeated, “She came here to see you.” He added as much of his _this-is-a-bad-idea-even-for-you_ tone into the statement as possible. He began composing a more forward _this-is-a-bad-idea-even-for-you_ speech for recitation in the near future. House habitually ignored actual text so blithely that subtext didn’t stand a chance.

House turned to Ali, eyebrows raised, and she leaned forward on her arms. Good god, she wasn’t wearing a bra.

“The pills you gave me didn’t work,” she said, pouting unabashedly. “I still want you.”

That sounded like a good queue to launch into the _bad idea_ speech, but he was having a bit of a hard time remembering how to make his mouth move.

House glanced at him with a smarmy smirk. _Damnit,_ the man would be more insufferable than usual for at least a week after this.

“I’m going to have to listen to your heart again,” House said earnestly. “I left my stethoscope in my office, but I’m pretty sure I can get a more accurate reading if I just put my ear to your—“

“Maybe it’s syphilis,” James said loudly. “Occasionally presents with impaired judgment… hyperactive libido, emotional regression. And the oozing puss, of course.”

“I don’t have syphilis,” Ali said haughtily.

“I didn’t mean you.”

House visibly held back a grin, which unravelled something tight that had been festering in James’s stomach. If House was amused by that, he wasn’t actually planning to pursue the girl. It was just posturing, something to hold over James’s head and use as leverage against Cuddy.

Of course—Ali glared at James and leaned further toward House—as much as House liked to pretend otherwise, he was a only a man. Not only that, he was a man who hadn’t had regular sex in eight years. James was going on two months and feeling the strain.

“Dr. Wilson,” House said suddenly, with an innocence that set warning bells clanging in James’s mind, “Do you happened to know today’s date?”

Willing to play along, James affected his serious doctor voice. “Why, Dr. House, I believe it’s the 26th of November.”

“ _Is it?_ ” he said, wondering. He turned to Ali and said, with great meaning and optimism, “ _Happy birthday._ ”

Her smile lit her entire face up. “You remembered”

House said, “It should be made a national holiday.”

She said, “Do you want to help me celebrate?” 

James hacked loudly into his hand.

House said, “You should have a doctor check that out,” without looking at him. Ali laughed exactly like a woman laughing at a man’s joke.

James said, “Didn’t you need a consult?”

“He won’t be in serious danger of dying for _at least_ an hour.”

“You’re so compassionate,” Ali said adoringly. 

James wrote, “ _Severe delusions_ ,” in her chart.

The action caught House’s attention, and he peered over James’s shoulder, reading the notations.

House said, “When did you stop taking the meditation?”

“When it ran out,” she said.

He squinted “When did the emotions go away?”

“About a week after I started taking them.”

“When did they come back?”

“About three weeks ago. Do you think I could be having a relapse? I haven’t been back to Fresno. I don’t mind it, you know,” she said. “Wanting you, I mean.”

House was undeterred. “How did you feel in the mean time? Angry? Depressed? Just wanted to scream at the world and punch your stuffed animal’s sweet little faces in?” 

She nodded, and James saw where House was going right before he got there.

“You’re bi-polar,” House said, _voila_ , another miracle diagnosis. “You have a chemical imbalance in your brain that screws with your emotions. I’m sure in no time you’ll go back to hating the world and wanting no man to ever touch you.” 

James’s worldview shifted slightly, as it often did when House was talking. He imagined being convinced that no one could genuinely want him without being under the influence of some kind of medical malady.

“You said it was the spores,” she said.

“I was wrong,” he said.

“Maybe you’re wrong this time, too.”

“I’m not. If you want a second opinion, ask the DoctorBot3000 here.”

James said, “Well, it _does_ sound like a Bipolar Disorder—“

“Ta-da!” House said. “Gosh, I should take you everywhere.”

“If it _is_ just chemical,” she said, coming off the exam table and inching toward House like she was calculating the best time to pounce, “how is it any different than any other emotion? I mean, isn’t that what _all_ emotions are? Chemical reactions, releasing endorphins, making us feel happiness… attraction… _lust_ …”

Oh, she was good. James said, “I’m still in the room, you know.”

House whispered, “Quiet, Jimmy, I think she’s about to show us her plumage.”

“The male of the species has the plumage. Anyway, I think you’ve seen enough of her plumage for—“ Someone knocked on the door.

“ _Go away!_ ” House hollered.

Cuddy marched in, saying, “Why are you only ever in the clinic when I _don’t_ want you—“

She stopped, taking in the scene. James fought not to look contrite. He wasn’t being caught at anything. He had planned to stop it. Unhelpfully, Ali clutched her shirt to her chest as if she’d been displaying much more ‘plumage’ than she actually had.

“ _Bust-ed!_ ” House sang.

“ _You_ ” Cuddy said to Ali, “Get out of my hospital before I call the cops. You,” she turned to House, “I thought you gave up this stupid phase when I relented on the carpet! And _you,_ ” she turned to James, but after glaring for a few moments, she just shook her head incredulously, the _I expected better from you_ expression that he received so very often when House was involved.

“She’s a patient!” James said, waving her file.

“Of the _Looove_ Doctor,” House said. James seriously considered smacking him with the file. Ali laughed.

Cuddy rubbed her forehead. “I’m calling security.”

“This is a hospital,” Ali said. “I have a medical problem. You can’t throw me out.”

Cuddy said, “I don’t care if you have a seizure just outside of the front door. If you need medical attention, there are three other hospitals in the area. Go to one of those.” She went to the phone and dialled security.

James turned to the poor girl and said kindly, “You might want to leave before they get here, to avoid making a scene.” 

House scoffed and said, “He gets all melty around pretty girls in distress.”

She seemed to take the advice to heart, though. She gave House a last lingering look, said, “I love you,” with the sort of aching, soul-deep honesty that only exists before the first heartbreak. 

James fought back a sudden, unexpected surge of jealousy. He really needed to get laid.

Cuddy said, “Never mind,” into the phone, and then followed doggedly on Ali’s heels, evidently wanting to make sure she left the hospital grounds completely.

When they were alone, House said, “She loves me.”

“She’s unstable,” James said.

“So is nitro-glycerine,” House said, pulling his portable TV out of his pocket. He fiddled with the antenna, looking for a signal. “Doesn’t stop it from being fun to play with on a Friday night. You know, if Cuddy hadn’t come in, I bet she would have done both of us right there on the table.”

James thought about that, and then tried very hard not to. He said, “You, me, and an underage, psychologically unstable girl in Exam Room Three. That’s always been a fantasy of mine.”

“I knew it,” House said. “That’s the real reason behind all the divorces, right?”

“Of course,” James said. He leaned against the cabinet next to House so he could see the screen. He added, “You wouldn’t believe what I can do with a tongue depressor.”

House didn’t answer, except to glance sideways at him until the commercial ended.

There were only seven minutes left of _General Hospital._ James spent most of them trying to figure out what was bothering him about Ali.

While the credits rolled, he said, “She’s not your type.”

It only took House a moment. “Oh, yeah. Young and gorgeous is a real turn off.”

“You like sassy brunettes who can actually keep up with you mentally. You like people who won’t take your crap, who can hold their own in a conversation with you, not just… _giggle_ at everything you say. You consider verbal foreplay an enlightened form of _actual_ foreplay.” 

House watched him for a few moments, seeming to actually take the words to heart. 

He said seriously, “Are you telling me that you’re the woman of my dreams?”

 _Jesus._ “I’m… not sassy.”

“Spunky, maybe,” House suggested.

“No,” James said with certainty. “ _House._ You’re not seriously considering having a relationship with her, are you?”

“Of course not,” he said. “Do you think she’d like a bottle of whipped cream for her birthday, or is that too sentimental? Maybe a box of condoms.”

“I think you have serious issues that you need to work through with a psychiatrist,” James said. Then, “Cuddy’s going to kill you.”

“I’ll die happy.”

James couldn’t rightly protest now that she was of legal age. Beth had been 18 when they’d met and 19 when they’d married, and House hadn’t said a word about her age when he’d given James the list of reasons he shouldn’t marry her. He’d mentioned it plenty outside of the list, but it hadn’t been on the official _Reasons Why Wilson Is An Idiot_ memo that House had sent to the entire hospital staff on the day he’d proposed. 

_All redheads are witches,_ had been, as well as, _Irish girls only put out when drunk,_ and _She owns garden gnomes, for god’s sake. Gnomes. Plural._

James might have cited the fact that Ali was House’s patient, but House knew about Grace. He wouldn’t point fingers if he knew that House would point back; House’s nails were sharper. 

Sometimes James resented himself every bit as much as he resented House.

“This is a bad idea,” he said.

“If you’ve got an alternative, I’m all ears,” House said, glancing at the door. “It’s not like I’ve got cancer patients lining up outside of my office for one last fling before dying.”

House made it very hard for people to feel sorry for him. As hard as James tried, he couldn’t always indulge him in that.

“Oh, get a hooker,” he said, trying to sound cruel. _I don’t feel bad for you, you cynical, crippled bastard._

“Already got one,” House said lightly, limping toward the door. “She’s brunette and _sassy._ ”

James stayed in the room for a few minutes more, trying to think of alternatives and trying not to think of House calling him _spunky._


End file.
